Guilt Like a Knife
by Choice
Summary: No one-not even his best friend-knew.


**Guilt Like a Knife

* * *

**

I wrote this for the _Diva-Off_, even though I'm more than a little intimidated by the competition. I've been sort of lacking in the inspiration department, what with the added stress of school starting back up just a couple days ago, but I finally got something-this-out! It's not much, and I didn't really bother double-checking it for errors and/or awkward transitioning, so I hope it's okay.  
Also: I'm not sure if someone could go homeless for more than a week without notice, or if it's a realistic situation at all. I apologize for any exaggerations or unrealistic bits, and I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

When she asked Kurt to hang out with her today, she'd expected them to watch TV, criticizing Tyra Banks in one breath only to praise her in another as they gave each other manicures. Not _this._

Mercedes watched him with a disbelieving frown, arms folded across her ample chest. "You're making Puck… a sandwich?"

Kurt glanced up from carefully arranging luncheon meat on a slice of bread. His voice was carefully devoid of defensiveness when he teased, "Are you jealous?" But the way his hand tightened on the butter knife as he spread mustard on the other slice was telling.

Mercedes backed away a bit, because if she, a sensible, mature young woman had lost her marbles long enough to heave a boulder through the windshield of a car, who knew what someone as pristine and composed as Kurt was capable of.

"No boy, I'm just wondering why the boy has you so whipped lately." She inwardly breathed a sigh of relief when Kurt finally set down the knife, but didn't consider herself lucky just yet. It was still within reach, after all. "He's got you buying him lunch, doing his laundry just last week-he's turned you into his man-servant, Kurt!" she cried. "That is _no_ way to treat someone you love. He should be spoiling _you_, Kurt."

"Why?" he snapped, "Because I'm the _girl_ of the relationship or something?" He forced the sandwich into a Ziploc and threw the butter knife into the sink with a loud clatter. Tiny globs of mustard spat all over the curtains. "Because Puck is the _man_ and he should be pampering _me?_"

"You know that's not what I meant," Mercedes insisted. She was standing her ground, because she did _not_ back down-even from her own friend-but god_damn_, Kurt could be scary when he really put his mind to it.

"Oh really? Then what _did_ you mean by it, Mercedes?"

"I meant _reciprocity!_" she cried. She threw her hands up into the air, frustrated. "I can't stand seeing you like this, at Puck's beck and call while he does jack _shit_ and owns some dweeb's ass at Mario Kart while scratching his balls!"

Kurt didn't look amused or convinced. His mouth was set in a thin, pale line, and his eyes were like chips of ice. She'd never seen that look directed at _her_ before. It hurt, considering all she was doing was looking out for her boy.

"I have a history assignment to work on today," he said tersely. "Maybe we should reschedule our ANTM marathon." Kurt didn't go on to say _See yourself out, bitch_ but the glare practically hollered it in her shocked face.

She watched as Kurt moved about the kitchen like she wasn't even there, gathering up chips, bottled water and a few granola bars. She was waiting for him to put everything into a _Lion King_ lunchbox with a thermos of chocolate milk.

She let out a mirthless laugh. It sounded hollow, even to her own ears. "Wow. So that's what I get for trying to be the supportive best friend, huh?" Kurt didn't even acknowledge Mercedes. She shook her head. "I love you, Kurt, but I can't stand to see you treating Puck like your kid or something. I hope you come to your senses soon, boy."

Mercedes thought she heard Kurt mumble something as she headed out of the kitchen, but she wasn't sure.

She wasn't sure about a lot of things lately.

* * *

"You don't know _shit_," Kurt hissed to the counter as Mercedes left. When the front door slammed closed, he punched the countertop once, twice in anger.

No one-not even his best friend-knew. How could they, when Puck continued to come to school like nothing was wrong? Of course, there was some curiosity when Puck actually started to make an effort in his academics, but no one was the wiser.

None of their friends, not even Finn (who was more of an on-again, off-again affair) knew that Puck had been homeless for exactly one month and two days.

When Santana asked why all of her sexts were returned with a notice, Puck shrugged and said his mom turned off his cell for one reason or another. And the haggard look of Puck's face, the slight scruff that built up on his cheeks every now and again? It went completely unquestioned. Unresolved guilt, people thought, from losing Beth, Quinn or Finn. If he looked especially zombie-ish, maybe all three.

One time Brittany asked Puck why he was wearing one of the flannels from Kurt's "butch" week. Kurt played it cool and said Puck must've snatched it by accident after they fooled around and he went home.

Home…

Kurt gave the solid granite another fervent punch, ignoring the smarting of his reddening knuckles. God, Puck didn't even _have_ a home, not anymore. And why was that again? Oh yes, because Kurt all but forced Puck out of the closet.

Didn't that make him feel special. His first boyfriend, the first boy he made homeless, and for what? For _pride?_ Being true to yourself? Kurt never thought he'd say it, but he found himself believing that maybe lying about your sexuality was for the better. At least until _after_ you moved out.

He sniffed and scrubbed away his tears with his hands, furious with himself and the rest of the world. Why was life so unfair? Why did Mrs. Puckerman not love Puck as much as Kurt's dad loved Kurt? Why had Kurt pushed and demanded so much of Puck?

The only comfort he had was that Puck never once placed the blame on him, not even at his lowest. (Puck had more than his fair share of bad days, which wasn't all that hard to believe.)

Because Puck's cell had been long since turned off, they usually arranged little meet-ups during school or, sometimes, Kurt would get a call from Puck, on a payphone.

Kurt hurried to his car with the shopping bag of food, lined paper (for homework), and the warmest gloves he hoped his father wouldn't miss. They had settled on three o'clock, and it was almost half-past.

He didn't like keeping Puck waiting. It just added to the guilt that weighed him down.

Kurt pulled into the small parking lot at three thirty-four, cursing Mercedes for making him late. At least he'd been able to blow the girl off with a reasonable excuse; his and Puck's meet-up had been sort of spur-of-the-moment.

He hadn't had the heart to tell Puck he'd made other plans with 'Cedes. Kurt knew his boyfriend would make him spend time with her, but even with Puck's approval (acceptance? Whatever you could call it), Kurt would be miserable, his mind conjuring all sorts of sad scenarios of what Puck was doing all alone while he sat in his nice, warm house on his big, comfy couch eating fattening handfuls of popcorn while having the luxury of television.

Puck would come over his sometimes, to take a shower or stay for one of Carole's home-cooked meals, but he always refused to stay the night. When Kurt adamantly refused him a ride back to the park, Puck had shrugged and said he'd walk back. And, well, it was dark out, and the park was a ways away, so Kurt always caved.

Kurt trekked through the browning grass, the wind manipulating his hair as he made his way to the forest surrounding the park where Puck was. He knew the tree almost by heart by now, and he smiled as he walked around the trunk and almost tripped over his boyfriend.

"Hey."

Puck offered him a wide smile in return. "Hey yourself." He patted the ground beside him and Kurt didn't even grimace as he planted his butt on the cold, dirty ground.

He wordlessly opened the shopping bag, passing Puck the sandwich he'd made. Puck murmured a soft "Thank you" as he quickly popped the Ziploc open, munching on a small bite as he watched Kurt fiddle with the protective seal on the water bottle. "How you been?"

Kurt handed him the opened water with a successful grin, sitting back as Puck ate. "Fine. I can't figure out my math homework, though."

"Well _that_ sucks," Puck snickered. "Did you bring it with you? Maybe I can help."

They spent a while talking about school and doing their homework, and once everything was said and done, with Puck covertly slipping half of his sandwich and the rest of his chips back into the bag, they settled under a blanket in the little cranny beneath Puck's tree.

Puck prodded him when Kurt scowled at nothing in particular. "Yo. What's on your mind, babe?"

He didn't want to tell Puck about Mercedes, he really didn't, but if he didn't get it off of his chest now, Kurt didn't know what he'd do.

* * *

  
Puck sighed as Kurt told him all about his tiff with Mercedes, cursing the stupid pinpricks he felt nipping at his eyes. What hurt was that everything Mercedes said… "She's _right_," he murmured. Kurt deserved to be pampered, to be spoiled with dates and presents and whatever other trappings the boy envisioned in his picture-perfect romance fantasy.

Instead, here he was, sneaking out sandwiches and clothes to the park where Puck practically lived. Kurt fed him and clothed him, used his own allowance to buy Puck toiletries and a warm fleece blanket. The only thing keeping Kurt from asking his father if his "friend" could move in was Puck.

Even now, homeless and destitute, he still had some pride kicking in him.

Kurt gave him a light slap to the back of his head in chastisement, saying, "Don't you _dare_ say that, Noah Puckerman" in a light whisper of comfort, as soft as the fleece they were engulfed in.

Puck pretended twin clouds were raining on his cheeks; Kurt dutifully ignored the damp drop that fell with a dull _splat_ on the back of his hand.

"It's getting colder out," Kurt mused out loud. Puck stared up at the browning leaves of the tree he'd taken to thinking of as his shelter. A big enough crevice at the foot of an old maple, lined with moss and dirt and small rocks… his _bed_.

Sometimes he laughed himself to tears when he remembered how he'd once complained about his old bed. How it wasn't soft enough, big enough. He'd give anything for that creaky spring-mattress now.

"Not that bad," Puck muttered gruffly, closing his eyes and ignoring how the cold breeze made his runny nose even worse.

They sat in relative silence for a while, broken by the rustlings of leaves falling, scratching pavement, or the ornery wails of the blue jay that lived in his tree. Puck absently traced the K + P carved into the knobby root he used as an armrest, his finger moving in an infinite, heart-shaped path around their initials. It was a housewarming sentiment that meant more to him than Kurt probably knew.

Puck was the first to break the afternoon's peaceful quiet. "I found a job."

Kurt's fingers laced with his beneath the blanket. "That's good," he said. Puck could hear the smile in his voice, and it made his chest radiate with warmth even as his toes froze in his old sneaks. "Where?"

"Nothing big… after-school shifts at some mom 'n' pop coffee house."

"The one downtown?" Kurt asked. Puck nodded. "How do you get there? It's a fifteen-minute drive, at least…"

"I hoof it," Puck said. He squeezed their clasped hands once when Kurt went to argue. "You do enough for me as it is, Kurt. Plus, I could use the exercise," Puck joked.

He didn't mention how he'd had to tighten his belt a notch or two.

Kurt didn't appreciate his play at humor, yanking his hand out of Puck's. He turned and shot Puck an acidic glare. "Don't joke like that," he hissed. His eyes were damp. "Just… don't. Okay?"

Puck's smile faded and he nodded, murmuring a soft "C'mere" as he tugged Kurt to his chest.

A sigh traveled out of Kurt and whisked through Puck's own lungs as they nestled closer together beneath their tree. He closed his eyes, reveling in Kurt's warmth as he traced their initials once more, thinking of a day when he and Kurt would hightail it out of this cow-town.


End file.
